E Gratuit Sa Ne Zambim

A poignant feeling, as if someone is carefully arranging nighttime anxieties on shelves and hanging them on a rope to dry in the fresh air. The city outside the window looks squinting: teeth and clenched fists, floors, cigarette smoke, half-asleep faces - and all this under the reasonable, slightly rough mantra that freedom is not in escape, but in the ability not to lose yourself. Simple things - a smile, a prayer, a cup of rain - suddenly seem less ridiculous than the packages and trophies that fill the house but do not warm the heart.

There is a slight fatigue from the spectacle: people are like harlequins at a fair, and inside - a desert of toys and gadgets. But at the same time, a quiet steadfastness can be heard: fragments are gathered, old decorations are torn down, and the tent-heart rises again, under which storms are sewn. There is no gloomy philosophy - rather, a note with a kind suggestion: be less zombie-like, listen to yourself more, sometimes just get off at the first stop and look at the world without filters.

The ironically warm tone does not condemn, but invites - slowly, without pathos. It's as if someone is whispering that happiness is not found on a shelf with things or in a car from an advertisement, but in the ability not to be a hostage to circumstances: to keep going, to look for patterns, to take steps down the floors - and not to forget to smile when the rain is still falling.